


Unusual Flora

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Botany, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things just beggar belief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a conversation Willowsticks and I had. A ridiculous conversation.

Richard snatched at the ringing phone a little too eagerly. He had spent the last 15 minutes being (mildly) teased by Camille and had just about reached the point where it was starting to not be funny anymore. Especially since the bloody fan had broken down again. Though he sort of suspected that she was planning on backing off as well – Camille had remarkable skills when it came to spotting his breaking points. What he needed was a nice crime committed somewhere with superior air conditioning that could occupy him for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps Dwayne and Fidel would come back from patrol with some interesting problem for him to tackle.

“I would like to report a body!” A tremulous voice declared over the line. Richard reached for his note pad and pen. Camille watched him expectantly.

“What is your name, Ma’am?” Richard asked.

“My name is _Dr_ Laura Parker, from the University of Guadeloupe Saint Marie Botany Research Station.”

Richard didn’t miss the way she emphasised her title, in fact her name sounded a little familiar. He thus addressed her appropriately, “Well, Dr Parker, what details can you give me about this body?”

“It is in the _drainage_ system!” She cried. “You must come quickly, they are planning to lift the covers soon and may disturb _the evidence_!”

“Well Dr Parker if what you say is true…” Richard began, intending to explain nobody should touch anything before they arrived, but Dr Parker objected to his phrasing.

“Are you accusing _me_ of being a liar?” She said shrilly – and loudly, so loudly that Camille winced on the other side of the station. “I can _assure_ you that I am _deadly_ serious, man! You need to hurry over here, I am not sure how much longer I can delay them!” And with that, she hung up.

Richard stared at the phone for a few moments, before coming to his senses and realising that the woman was right about one thing - action was in order. “Right, Camille, we have a body,” he said, rising and grabbing his jacket.

She was on her feet immediately. “Where is it?” Camille asked.

“Um, the botany research centre? I presume you know where that is?”

 Camille paused, and Richard thought she was about to tell him she _didn’t_ know where it was. Instead she asked, “Was it Laura?”

Richard was a bit miffed that they were still standing there instead of proceeding to the crime scene. His eagerness to leave had nothing to do with an idle thought about the possibility of the botany research centre having a nice cold store for seeds and such. “It was a Dr Parker, yes. Come on, Camille, she said it was urgent!”

“There is something you should know…” She began, but he was annoyed now and interrupted her.

“Will it get us to the scene faster?” He asked peevishly. It wasn’t like she was incapable of talking and driving at the same time, their journey’s to work in the morning were witness to that.              

“No, but…”

“Then save it!” He snapped. “Come on Seargent.” Camille threw him a dirty look that, deep down, Richard sort of knew he deserved. The heat and the boredom induced by a recent lack of work had gotten the best of him. Sitting next to a silent and sulking Camille, Richard realised he might have to try and make up for this later. Not that he had any clue where to even start with such a mammoth task.

“So, you know Dr Parker, then?” He asked after a good ten minutes of silence. He was happy to discuss things now they were actually on their way to the scene.

Camille didn’t answer straight away. She shot a sideways glance at him – if Richard had been under the impression she would be willing to forgive him easily, he wasn’t now. “Yes,” she said shortly. He knew further information would not be forthcoming.

“And what is she like then?” He tried.

Camille seemed to consider her answer carefully, “Well I wouldn’t want to cloud your judgement, Sir. We’ll be there soon enough.” Richard knew he could just order her to give up the information, but he thought it would just push them further towards a proper falling out. And she was right, they were pulling up to the research station now.

As he exited the jeep, a woman ran out of the front door. She was in her fifties, masses of grey curls piled haphazardly on her head and a frantic expression on her face, “Thank _goodness_ you are here, officers! They are about to lift the covers.”

She then loped off without a backwards glance. Richard looked a Camille, who just shrugged and said, “I guess we should follow her?”

When they came around the corner there were indeed a bunch of workmen in many layers of personal protective equipment – Richard wondered how they didn’t collapse having to wear the high-visibility jackets, thick gloves and steal-toe capped boots in this heat. Mind, many people had made similar comments about him and his suit. There was also a slightly less appropriately dressed young woman there as well, Richard noticed she had a couple of splashes of concrete on her pumps and suspected her day job did not usually involve being on an active work site. She was standing well back but keenly watching as the workmen prepared to lift the covers.

“Laura, what is going on?” This woman asked as Dr Parker skidded to a halt beside her. “Who are these people?”

“I am Detective Inspector Richard Poole,” He said, stepping forward and offering a hand. The woman took it, but looked thoroughly puzzled. “This is Detective Seargent Camille Bordey.”

“Um, nice to meet you?” She said accepting his hand. “If we’re doing formal introductions I am Dr Geraldine Reynolds, one of the biosecurity officers on Saint Marie.”

“Eh duck!” One of the workman, who to Richard’s surprise had a broad Nottinghamshire accent, said. “We clear to lift this up, like?”

“Oh yes go ahead,” she said, waving them on before Richard could object. She turned back to him and said, “It’ll only take a moment, sorry, we’ve been trying to decommission this old quarantine drainage system for ages! Was there something I could help you with?” She asked, glancing distractedly between him and the workmen.

Richard didn’t answer that question, because he too was watching them lift the drain, fully prepared for them to expose a body, possibly in an advanced state of decomposition. They seemed to struggle for a moment and he heard on of the men grunt something about ‘suction’, but then at last the cover was off and he found himself staring at…a slab of concrete. Slightly damp looking concrete, but a rather solid slab none the less. “Ok that looks great boys,” the biosecurity woman was saying now. “Certainly looks like the levels didn’t drop overnight, you can get that cover back on and then call it a day!” She turned back to him. “So, um, Detective Inspector. You, uh, sort of look like you were expecting something else?”

He could sense that somewhere behind him Camille was having to make a valiant effort not to laugh. He reigned in his frustration as much as he could before rounding on Dr Parker, “Where exactly is this body you were talking about?”

“Well I _thought_ it was in the drains you see!” Laura explained. “I mean I fully _expected_ for there to be a hand sticking out of the concrete they poured last night. You know they were doing it until _nine pm_! Why would they be pouring concrete at that time of night if it wasn’t for _nefarious_ purposes?”

“Laura!” Dr Reynolds cried, clearly shocked. “You told the police there was a body? Why would you think that, we were pouring it late because the actual delivery arrived late!”

“Well nobody has seen Charles today,” Laura pointed out stubbornly.

“Charles? Charles is on holiday in Florida! He’s not in the old quarantine drainage system.” She rolled her eyes. “And if I had stuck him in there I assure you, I’d have never left a hand on display, I’m very through when it comes to disposing of biological waste.” This declaration did lead to Camille letting out a bark of laughter which she quickly attempted to cover with a cough.

Dr Parker continued to look defiant, clearly believing her actions had been correct. She turned to Richard and said firmly, “If this were the television, there definitely would have been a hand sticking out of that concrete!”

“Are you seriously suggesting, Madam, that you called out the police because there would have been a body _if this were a television show_?”

“Well surely they base those dramas on real cases most of the time!”

“No,” said Richard. “No they don’t.”

Seeing how angry Richard was, Camille decided she had better intervene, “Dr Parker, why don’t you head on inside, maybe have a cup of camomile tea? The Inspector and I will just make doubly sure there isn’t a body.”

“Thank you, Sergeant, that seems like an eminently sensible plan,” and with a swish of her skirts she was gone. Richard didn’t appreciate Camille’s interference, he had been seriously considering arresting the woman for wasting police time. Or at least forcing a referral to the mental health unit. He was going to tell her just that put she held up a hand to silence him and looked significantly at Geraldine, who was watching the pair of them with interest.

“I’m sorry Laura dragged you out here,” Geraldine offered. “She’s, um, she is very good at her job,” she offered –which confused Richard for a moment. Then he realised where he had heard the name before, Dr Laura Parker had written several very well received books on the flora of the Caribbean. No doubt she was rather an important member of staff for such a small research unit. That was also the sort of information Camille would know, and an idea began to form about why she might have interrupted him.

“Well, um, these things happen,” Richard said. “I suppose we’ll be off. Uh, good luck with the, um, what is it you are doing again?”

“Decommissioning the quarantine drainage system,” Geraldine repeated. “We figured concrete would kill anything nasty that might be left over.”

“Yes, yes I imagine that would do the trick. Anyway good luck with it all.”

As he and Camille were walking away she called after them, “By the way, tomorrow we need to move some of the apiaries. If you get a phone call about us attempting to release a swarm of killer bees, I wouldn’t hurry over.” Richard got the distinct impression he may have been being mocked. By a stranger no less.

“I did try to warn you,” Camille said, as soon as they were safely ensconced in the jeep.

Richard sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “You did. I’m sorry I didn’t let you finish explaining.”

This statement caused Camille to pause as she went to start to engine, “Did you just apologise?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not repeating it!”

“I wasn’t asking you to, just wasn’t sure I heard right,” She said as she turned the key. “I was expecting to have to force the apology out of you. Now I can’t stay mad at you.” She actually sounded a little disappointed, but when he looked at her she gave him a smile. One of the ones that tended to make his heart beat a little faster – a rate somewhere between above average and full blown tachycardia. “Laura Parker is well known for being a little…different.”

“You know I am pretty sure she is one of the world experts on the Apocynaceae,” he said to Camille. “How is a woman that…different…a world expert at anything?”

 “Well the people of Saint Marie can be very tolerant towards eccentrics,” Camille pointed out. “Something I think _you_ would have noticed.”

There was no way Richard was letting that little jab pass uncommented on, “I am not eccentric, you are just so, so… _French_ that you can’t understand an Englishman’s basic need for things like, oh I don’t know, privacy, peace and quiet and the occasional decent cup of tea!”

Camille smiled, “Well perhaps you aren’t quite in the eccentric category.” Richard supposed that would have to do.

 

* * *

 

 

When they got back to the station Dwayne and Fidel had returned from patrol. “Where have you been?” Dwayne asked Camille conversationally.

“Laura Parker thought there was a body in the botany research station drainage system,” Camille said, immediately drawing huffs of amusement from the two uniformed officers. Richard swore sometimes that the three of them had mind-reading abilities, and Camille had in one sentence communicated the fact he had been made a bit of a fool of. Luckily, nobody commented on that fact.

“I’m sure Laura hasn’t called us out for oh, 18 months,” Fidel said, looking thoughtful. Since that covered the period Richard had been on Saint Marie, it explained why he had never heard of the woman before.

“Oh no, she had stopped me a couple of times when I have been out on patrol,” Dwayne said. “Largely concerned about the…what does she call it? Oh yes, the anthropophagus tree. Mind I am not sure she is entirely wrong about that, that tree has always given me the creeps ever since I was a kid.”

Richard frowned, he knew enough Greek to be able to translate what Dwayne had just said. “What do you mean, anthropophagus tree?”

“You’ve not heard about the witch tree, Sir?” Fidel asked, looking surprised. Camille was looking amused.

“No,” said Richard. “But please, do enlighten me.”

Fidel looked at Dwayne, he was a smart man and had actually learnt how little patience Richard had for the superstitious beliefs of the people of Saint Marie. Dwayne, on the other hand, had absolutely no qualms in relating the tale of the Witch tree. “Well, Chief, there is this tree right about a kilometre into the jungle that surrounds the village of Tolosa.  And I can tell you this, that tree does not belong. There ain’t another tree like it on this island – the thing is massive as well, trunk must be at least 6 metres in diameter, the tree maybe 300 years old, I’m not sure. Nobody likes going near it – see, they say it was planted by _a witch_.”

With that dramatic proclamation, Camille seamlessly took up telling the tale, “They say that a good witch killed her fiancé with dark magic, because she thought he had cheated on her with another woman. Then she buried him deep in the jungle, and simply pretended he had disappeared. A few days later she learned she was wrong about the man, and was filled with remorse, so she planted a special tree over his grave in memorial of him.” Camille had dropped the volume of her voice, to make the tale more dramatic, and Richard found he was leaning forward without being to help himself. “What she didn’t realise was that the dark magic she had used remained in her lover’s body, and as he turned to dirt the tree absorbed more than just the nutrients from his decomposing remains – it also absorbed that dark magic.”

“It changed the tree,” Dwayne said. “Made it more…sentient. And the tree got a taste for human remains…no more could it be satisfied getting its energy from the light, like other trees. It was a creature of darkness now, and it found it needed to feed on _humans_ in order to survive.”

“So whenever anybody would get to close to the tree,” Camille continued, causing Richard to have to swivel in his chair to follow the story. “Perhaps some lonely traveller trying to find a shortcut to the village – or a pair of lovers looking for a little privacy, they would unwittingly find themselves becoming dinner!” Camille sat back, clearly thinking she had finished the tale, and Richard was about to chew them out for even considering the existence of a man eating tree when Dwayne dropped in another ‘fact’.

“They say the tree doesn’t _want_ to be evil. It has this very strange bark you know, it peels and falls off in patches. People say that is the tree trying to expel the evil magic, that one day…one day it’ll just be a tree again.”

There followed another dramatic pause, one that was ended abruptly by Richard saying in the most exasperated tone he had ever had to use, “ _That is ridiculous_!”

“I don’t know, Inspector, an awful lot of people have gone missing in that section of the jungle before,” Fidel pointed out. He received a glare from Richard for his efforts, he was frankly disappointed in the young sergeant.

“Man-eating trees _do not exist_ ,” he said firmly. Dwayne and Fidel shared resigned glances, clearly deciding it was wisest not to argue the point with him. Camille, on the other hand, was not willing to let go so easily.

“You can’t just _say_ they don’t exist!” She scolded him. “It’s a big planet, Richard, don’t they find new species all the time? There could be a man-eating tree out there somewhere! And why not the jungles of Saint Marie?”

“Camille,” he began, reasonably calmly. For once he felt confident that he could reason with her. “If a plant, like a tree, had evolved to eat humans it would therefore need to be in proximity to humans. Thus it makes it pretty certain we would _know_ if man-eating trees existed.” He felt almost triumphant with the logic of his argument.

“Ah!” Camille cried, a small smile on her face. “But maybe it didn’t _evolve_ to eat humans. Perhaps it evolved to consume some other large mammal…like a tiger, or bear – any large creature that lives in a remote area. And it only gets to eat a human when one stumbles across it.”

Actually, it wouldn’t really be good scientific practise for Richard to deny that man eating trees couldn’t possibly exist anywhere – Camille had made a good point. Not that he was going to _tell_ her that. “A tree on Saint Marie is not going to come across any large mammals except humans, so we _can_ be sure this particular tree is not man eating.” And yet all three officers were looking at him doubtfully, what the hell was wrong with them? “I am telling you this tree isn’t some ‘witch’ tree and it definitely isn’t anthropophagous!”

“But how do you explain the bark?” Dwayne asked.

With a deep sigh, he patiently explained, “Plenty of trees have bark that peels off. _Betula pendula,_ the silver birch for example. The bark regularly peels off that species – that is probably the case here as well.” Camille just raised an eyebrow at him, which had the effect of instantly infuriating him. “Look! I’ll prove it, tell me where this damn tree is and I’ll go out and look at it and bloody ID the thing myself! And I _won’t_ end up as its dinner, though no doubt a hundred over blasted bugs will feed on me.”

“I don’t know Chief,” Dwayne said doubtfully, frowning. “I’m not sure you want to go trekking off into the jungle round there. Plenty of other dangers round those parts, not just the witch tree.”

“No doubt if there are other dangers and people _have_ gone missing, it was probably those dangers that were responsible.” Hardly the most elegant sentence, but he thought they would figure out what he meant. “But I’ll be fine, I’m a police officer. I know how to be sensible, unlike 80% of the general public.” He found all three members of his team staring at him incredulously. “I _will_ be fine,” he insisted. “Now tell me where the tree is!”

Camille threw the pen she had been fiddling with down on the desk and declared, “ _I’ll_ take you there! There is no way I am letting you break your neck over a tree.” Richard thought that was sort of nice, that she would be concerned, at least until she continued, “Too much effort to train up a new Inspector.”

He frowned. “I…” He began to protest, but Camille didn’t let him get very far.

“It is the _only_ way you are going to find the tree, Richard, so just accept it! We’ll go on Saturday.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part and final part. Inspired by another conversation with Willowsticks, that was slightly less ridiculous

When Camille turned up on Saturday morning, she crossed her arms and did the eyebrow raising thing. “What?” He asked.

She dropped her arms and sighed, “You know _what_. We are going hiking. Into the jungle. Don’t you have anything more appropriate to wear?” Richard had thought he was dressed rather sensibly, after all he wasn’t wearing a jacket or tie for once. He was sort of hoping that would please her, and now he mentally berated himself for being ridiculous. The woman would probably never be happy until he was dressed in a shirt with brightly coloured parrots and khaki shorts.

“It’s the most sensible thing I have!” He grumbled, it wasn’t his fault most of the stuff he brought with him were work clothes.

“What about the clothes you had shipped back last time you were in London?” She asked, completely blindsiding him. So much so he wasn’t able to answer, and she had to continue, “There were some chinos in there, weren’t there?” She then opened his wardrobe and confidently selected the trousers she was talking about.

“I…Camille! Have you been going through my wardrobe?”

“What?” She asked, shrugging and trying to look innocent. “Sometimes it takes you _ages_ to shave in the mornings. I’m a Detective, my natural instincts are to snoop, what did you expect?”

It was bloody cheeky, her attempting to blame _him_ for her inability to mind her own business. “Respect for my privacy, that is what I _expect_ , I just forgot that doesn’t exist on Saint Marie.”

“Well, I know the trousers exist now, so you might as well change into them. I won’t make you change the shirt if that makes you more comfortable, although why you don’t own a pair of trainers I’ll never know…”

“These shoes are fine!” Richard told her, snatching the chinos out of her hand and glaring at her. “I have been to crime scenes in all sorts of places in these shoes and they have never let me down before!” He looked down at the trousers, and considered refusing to change, but the thought of the argument that would follow was simply to exhausting. “Give me five minutes, then,” he said with a sigh. Camille beamed at him and stepped outside.

 

 

They parked in the village of Tolosa, which before that week Richard hadn’t actually know existed. It turned out to be remarkably pretty – with several fine examples of colonial era architecture. Camille caught him admiring the buildings and smiled triumphantly, “Like what you see?” She asked.

“The buildings are rather nice, I suppose,” he said with a small shrug, he didn’t want to give the impression he was too keen – it was hardly the Cotswolds.  “I am surprised I haven’t been here before though.”

“That,” said Camille, slamming the car door. “Is because nobody has ever been murdered here. The only places _you_ go on Saint Marie are murder scenes.”

“That is blatantly not true,” he argued, wondering if they were destined to spend the entire day bickering. “I went to the museum with you, and nobody has been murdered there!”

“Right, and can you name any _other_ places?” Camille asked him, staring him down. Richard wracked his brains.

“The supermarket!” He came up with eventually, feeling pretty smug, though the look he was receiving told him Camille thought this was a pretty weak example. “And the library?” He tried, but she just shook her head at him. Retrieving a large rucksack from the back of jeep, she swung it on to her shoulders and stalked off down the main road. He was forced to hurry after her.

“Apparently there is a hiking trail that starts around here which should bring us reasonably close to the tree,” she told him when he caught up. She consulted a piece of paper that Richard assumed was a hand drawn map, but might as well have been a series of abstract squiggles. “Oh here it is.”

“Right,” he said, staring at the ‘path’ with some trepidation. It seemed more like a slightly trampled area of vegetation to him.

“It’s slightly uphill, so it’ll take maybe twenty minutes,” Camille explained. “Don’t worry, I have plenty of water with me.”

That wasn’t what Richard was worried about.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille hadn’t been telling the whole truth when she described the path as ‘slightly uphill’. It was, in fact, a bloody hard climb - one that was making him very out of breath and causing him to make all sorts of vows he probably wouldn’t keep about joining the gym and increasing his fitness. Humiliatingly, he suspected that she was actually going slowly for his sake, and he’d never felt so old in his life. She didn’t comment on it or anything, just would occasionally pause to admire a flower or point out a hummingbird to him, allowing him to catch his breath. And also admire the general splendour. Just because Saint Marie was so very…different to London, didn’t mean he didn’t think the place was beautiful. In fact he worried he was becoming a little too attached to it, and would come into work one day soon and find a transfer to London on his desk and realise he didn’t want to go.

Actually, if he was honest with himself that would be the case if it happened tomorrow. But more because he had become far too attached to a certain person on the island, rather than the place itself. Camille stopped again and then started to follow an even well less marked trail, but Richard took this as a good sign that they were nearing the location of the anything-but-a-witch-tree. Sure enough they rounded a corner and there it was. He couldn’t help himself, he let out a gasp of surprise.

Camille turned around sharply, perhaps she had thought (hoped?) one of the trees roots had reached out of the ground to pull him down and consume him, but that was not the case. Dwayne had been right about one thing – this was not a tree that belonged in the jungles of Saint Marie and it did indeed look out of place. “It’s a plane tree,” he said, staring at the thing in wonder. The trunk diameter wasn’t quite the 6 feet that Dwayne had been saying, but it was still a damn impressive specimen. He peered up into the leaves and said, thoughtfully, “You know I think this might even be a _London_ plane!”

 “The tree is from London?” Camille asked, puzzled.

Richard chuckled, “Sort of. They call them London plane because the tree was bred there, and they are very extensively planted in London – really, honestly everywhere. It is actually a hybrid of _Platanus occidentalis_ and _Platanus orientalis._ ”

“Right,” Camille said, clearly not understanding the significance of the tree.

“They make really good street trees in England because of their tolerance to both root compaction – which happens when you are planted with a load of concrete around you – and to pollution. Do you see how the bark peels off?” She nodded, examining the pattern left by the loss of the bark with interest. “It acts a bit like a pollution filter – when it flakes off it sheds the pollutants to tree has absorbed with it!”

Camille turned to him, one eyebrow quirked, and asked smugly, “You mean like it is trying to _expel evil_?”

On some level Richard realised she was teasing him, but he couldn’t stand for that. “Pollution isn’t _evil_ Camille, it’s just…bad.”

“You know I think it might depend on how you define evil…” she wielded. He wasn’t having any of it.

“Listen, even if you decide that the abstract concept of evil can be applied to pollution, this tree is hardly shedding its bark because of pollution! Saint Marie is one of the least polluted places I have ever been. And it is _definitely_ not shedding its bark because it is infused with evil magic,” He told her sternly. “It is shedding its bark, because _that is what plane trees do_.” She still looked at him like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Come on, Camille!” He fumed. “You don’t seriously believe this tree _eats_ people?”

She considered this for a moment, and then said, “No.” Before he could feel too triumphant though, she continued, “The tree elves that live here would never allow it.” There then followed a shocked silence, and just as Richard began to be able to form the words to lecture her about her belief in ‘tree elves’ Camille burst into a fit of giggles. It then dawned on him that she had been winding him up. The sound of her laughter was a little infectious, and he found himself smiling back at her. After a few moments her gaze began to feel uncomfortable, so he cleared his throat and said, “Um, well, I guess we have proved it isn’t a witch tree. We should make our way back.”

“Oh no!” Camille said. “We’ve been here barely 5 minutes, we can’t leave here already. We need to give the tree a good long chance to eat us, at least another hour, maybe ninety minutes.”

“Ninety minutes?” Richard cried. “What are we supposed to do for _ninety minutes_?”

“Have lunch,” she told him brightly.

“Where are we going to get…”

“What do you think I am carrying around in this rucksack?” She interrupted him. She dropped the thing to the ground, and Richard realised just how heavy the bag was. It made him feel unfit again, that Camille had made the same hike as him with all that added weight. He also felt a little guilty he didn’t offer to help her carry the bag as well. It was too late now, so he watched as she unpacked a sheet of some kind. Seeing his look she explained, “Well, I figured you wouldn’t sit directly on the ground and I don’t exactly have an overabundance of blankets.”

“Right…um…”

“Don’t worry, I am pretty sure I have food in here you’ll actually eat.”

She soon had the food unpacked, and it did include things that had clearly been selected for his benefit. Richard was quite impressed by the level of planning, but confused as to why she would have gone to this much effort. Perhaps Camille had less patience with myth and legend than she pretended she did – and was keen on the opportunity to disprove the fable of the witch tree as much he was. It was the only valid explanation. “Are you going to sit?” She invited him. He peered at the sheet – he was still concerned some sort of spiky vegetation might poke through it when his weight was applied but he supposed it would be rude not too.

They spoke about a fair few things over lunch. Camille told him a couple of other island legends and he instantly offered scientific or more logical explanations. They bickered about it, but it seemed more good natured than usual. In fact he rather enjoyed it, and thought she did as well. Inspired by the tree, he told her a bit about Kew Gardens, including how the water dragons they had realised to control the cockroaches were now a self-sustaining population. Once there was nothing but scraps left, he stared up into the canopy and said thoughtfully, “It’s amazing it has done so well, really, in such an alien climate. It is a long way from home.”

“Well, sometimes things can surprise you, you know? Yes, London is very different from Saint Marie and in this environment maybe people would think it couldn’t do well – but it has, it’s adapted. And you could even say it was flourishing.”

Richard gave her a suspicious look, “Did you _know_ this was a London plane?”

Camille smiled, “You mean, did I know and thus bring you out here so I could give you a pep talk utilising an extended metaphor relating your life to that of the tree’s life?”

“Well…yes.”

She paused, and Richard was certain she was about to confess, but then she said. “No, I have never actually seen this tree before, though I heard the stories of course. Dwayne had to give me directions. And even if I had been here before, I doubt I would have recognised it as a London plane. Must be fate.”

“Well, it does make a good metaphor – let’s not forget the part where all the locals think it’s weird and desperately try to avoid it.”

She shook her head at his attempt at self-deprecating humour, but still smiled at him fondly, “I think it is born out of a lack of understanding. Not many people really know the tree, they are unfamiliar with it. They just need to get to know it to see it’s not so bad. I have, and now I really appreciate the tree, and all the challenges it has faced and gotten over. The effort it has made to…fit in.”

And now they had strayed firmly into the sort of territory that made Richard uncomfortable. He considered leaping up and suggesting they begin hiking back immediately, even though he was still rather full and would probably end up with a horrendous stitch. There was also something else niggling him, a question he sort of wanted to know the answer to and might just about be brave enough to ask.

“Why did you?” He asked in a rush, not making much sense.

“Why did I what?”

He paused, taking the chance to actually _think_ about what he was asking, “Why did you take me out here? And, you know, bring lunch and everything? If it wasn’t originally for a lecture…”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised by the question. “Well you asked to go…”

Right, of course he had, how stupid. She had just come out here for the reasons she had already told him, to stop him dying and prevent her having to ‘break in’ a new boss. He was an idiot for thinking it might be anything more. Then he realised Camille was still talking.

“…And you _do_ need to see more of the island. But mostly I volunteered because I _like_ spending time with you. And I wouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to do so.” She followed this up by making sure she had his gaze, and holding it until he was forced to look away.

Richard struggled for the right words – desperate the say the right thing next. He glanced back up at the tree but knew that metaphor had run out of places to go now. With a small sigh he said, “I wish _Platanus_ were dioecious.”

Camille frowned, “I’m sorry?”

“Dioecious – those are species of plants that have both male and female plants, you see, as opposed to monoecious where plants contain flowers with both male and female repro-“

“Richard,” Camille said, cutting off his botany lecture mid-flow.

“Yes?” He asked, swallowing nervously.

“Shut up,” she told him. And then she kissed him.

Richard wondered if the tree wasn’t a little bit magical after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild botanical liberties have been taken. London plane does very well in hot countries, but you still wouldn’t expect to find it in the middle of the jungle.


End file.
